


you take my smile and make it bright

by Akane21



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 07:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20702177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akane21/pseuds/Akane21
Summary: And maybe it’s just nice self-deceit, but Kakuzu likes to imagine, running his hand along Hashirama’s quickly rising chest, that he could easily break his ribs and tear out his damn heart.Take it for himself.It’ll make him stronger—stronger than ever—and Hashirama more than deserves death for all that’s happened because of him; and even to himself Kakuzu doesn’t admit that it’s not the only reason he wants to have Hashirama’s heart.





	you take my smile and make it bright

**Author's Note:**

> It's kinda funny how I initially intended for it to be more dramatic and serious... but instead there's that. But at least there's a happy ending for everyone.

Kakuzu hates Hashirama.

And that’s an understatement.

He hates him so much he’d rip his throat out if he could — but he can’t.

Because he’s still too weak — but if before he lacked strength, now he lacks determination.

In many ways, Hashirama is the one who ruined Kakuzu’s entire life, and he has _every_ reason to hate him for it.

But at the same time Hashirama is the one who’s piecing his life together, proving to him—with endless persistence—that there’s always something worth going forward for.

Kakuzu doesn’t understand him or his motives—and so he hates him even more, with even greater passion, reveling in this feeling; because really he has nothing left anymore.

Only Hashirama—and his strange looks and words.

His strange, illogical mercy—which is borderline stupid, because really, Kakuzu tried to kill him; and even if he was more useful alive, he’d expect distrust, suspicion, being constantly watched.

Well—Hashirama is watching him, but not like an enemy.

He certainly wouldn’t chat with an enemy about minor little things, wouldn’t let an enemy wander around the village idly, wouldn’t trust important information to an enemy, wouldn’t turn his back to an enemy so recklessly—

And definitely wouldn’t get in bed with an enemy.

The first time that happens, Kakuzu thinks Hashirama is crazy.

Then it happens again and again, and Kakuzu becomes certain in this fact. And somewhat accepts it, because there’s a little more pleasant than strange in all this.

Hashirama on the battlefield and |in bed| are like two different people; the latter is considerate and tender, a drastic contrast with how fierce he is when striking down his enemies.

Kakuzu doesn’t forget that he is an enemy as well; should be, at least, but for some reason Hashirama doesn’t treat him like this, instead looks at him with such warmth, strokes his grown-out hair and says, “I don’t want you to stand on your knees before me.”

Kakuzu grins, not sure himself at what, and places his hands on Hashirama’s thighs, holding lightly, rubs his cheek against his stomach, feeling the muscles tense immediately.

“Are you sure about it?” he looks up at Hashirama, catching the smallest change in his expression; dark flame flashes in his eyes, and he bites his lip, losing his advantage for a second.

_This look._

Somehow, Kakuzu again feels that it’s Hashirama who controls the situation—just letting him lead.

“If you mean it like _that_...” Hashirama still doesn’t remove his hand, fingers tangled in Kakuzu’s hair. “How can I refuse?”

If there’s something Kakuzu likes in Hashirama, it’s how _sensual_ he is, amazingly responsive to the simplest things; the way he moans loudly, not holding back, whispers something incoherent—and, frankly, Kakuzu barely listens to his words but makes out his own name, and it resonates deep within him, a flash of bittersweet pleasure.

“I like your scars,” Hashirama’s ragged breath burns his neck, while his hands slide over his body, studying, exploring—_now’s just the time for that_, Kakuzu thinks, jerks his head.

“I have you to thank for them,” he snarls, gathering the last of his strength.

If it hadn’t been for Hashirama—if Kakuzu hadn’t lost to him—he wouldn’t have used the Jiongu technique on himself. And even though now, when he’s had a taste of these abilities, he likes the strength he’s gained, this heady feeling of power—he wanted none of it _then_.

_‘And you have the nerve to return?’ _echoes in his head.

It wasn’t the failure—but the fact that he dared to come crawling back to Taki, half-dead, after his defeat that made him a criminal in the eyes of the elders.

If he’d died—maybe he’d be considered a hero now.

_Of course, in that case he wouldn’t have cared anymore._

Hashirama stops and stares at him for a long while—there’s no more joy in his look, it’s serious and somewhat guilty.

Kakuzu is ready to tell him to go to hell the moment he opens his mouth, but Hashirama says nothing; only pulls him into a long, unbearably _tender _kiss.

This, Kakuzu can accept; at least Hashirama has enough tact not to press the unpleasant subject further.

“Don’t turn away, okay?” But he can’t seem to shut up completely. “I do like looking at you.”

Kakuzu only laughs at that; if Hashirama thinks he’s ashamed of his peculiar appearance or something like that—he really is a fool. Kakuzu feels uncomfortable under his gaze, but that’s not the reason. It doesn’t matter how handsome or hideous he is—he should be Hashirama’s enemy, the one he wants to kill or, at best, send to rot behind bars—and certainly not the one he touches and embraces so tenderly.

It’s hard to understand Hashirama, all his actions and thoughts.

But still, Kakuzu isn’t one to refuse what is willingly offered.

_I tried to kill you, and here you are, opening up before me._

Hashirama doesn’t seem to think about it at all—or about the fact that Kakuzu may try to finish what he started.

_He won’t, of course—but how would Hashirama know?_

And maybe it’s just nice self-deceit, but Kakuzu likes to imagine, running his hand along Hashirama’s quickly rising chest, that he could easily break his ribs and tear out his damn heart.

Take it for himself.

It’ll make him stronger—stronger than ever—and Hashirama more than deserves death for all that’s happened because of him; and even to himself Kakuzu doesn’t admit that it’s not the only reason he wants to have Hashirama’s heart.

In any case, he doesn’t do it—looks into dark brown, almost black eyes, still full of the same warmth; and kisses hot bitten lips, feeling strange bitterness which shouldn’t be here but which he always feels whenever they’re so close.

_Because no matter how much Hashirama allows him, he will never be truly his._

Even when Kakuzu takes him, spread out on the bed, open to him so trustingly—_stupid, how stupid_, kisses hot wet skin, biting not to hard enough to draw blood, but enough to leave aching marking, so that _no one else touches him, ever_; even in this moment Kakuzu can’t help but think about it.

Hashirama will never belong to him—wholly, unconditionally.

_And Kakuzu doesn’t know when he started to want it._

Hashirama’s arms are wrapped tightly around him, and it’s uncomfortable lying like this, pressed against his hot body, unable to move, and hard to breathe. Though Kakuzu isn’t sure what exactly the reason is for the latter—in fact, he always feels this way with Hashirama.

_Strange._

He struggles out of his embrace and stands up, shivering in the cool night air blowing through the open window.

He doesn’t manage to go far—Hashirama, always a light sleeper, wakes up instantly and catches his wrist, forcing him to stop.

“Where are you going?” he asks in a hoarse voice. “Stay.”

Kakuzu looks at him silently, not certain what he wants more now—to shove him off and get as far away as possible or to comply with his request.

Once again, Hashirama doesn’t let him make the decision—he sighs and pulls him in a firm embrace, not letting him breathe—but says nothing, only kisses his temple and strokes his back slowly.

Somehow it’s less uncomfortable now, and Kakuzu finds himself thinking that he doesn’t actually want Hashirama to let go. It feels... calm near him; and Kakuzu hasn’t felt that in quite some time.

Hashirama laughs quietly, as if reading his thoughts, and Kakuzu realizes resignedly that he completely, irrevocably lost to him.

Because it’s not that he can’t—he _doesn’t want_ to harm him, doesn’t want his death, by his own hand or someone else’s.

And no matter how many times he tells himself that he still hates Hashirama—he knows that it’s not true anymore.

“My marriage to Mito is nothing more than a political alliance, and I assure you, she knows perfectly well that my heart doesn’t belong to her. Nor does she have feelings for me other than friendship.”

Hashirama is lying, which is obvious, and Kakuzu wants to laugh right in his face—but what’s the point.

“Be careful what you say,” not the funniest joke, but Kakuzu was never good at that, “I could really take your heart.”

And Hashirama smiles at that so genuinely, as if he finds it actually funny.

“It’s already yours,” he says and takes Kakuzu’s hand, puts it on his chest—right where his heart is beating, calmly and steadily. “No one else’s.”

Familiar, heavy sounds reverberate through his whole body, making his own hearts beat—just a little bit—faster; and it’d be so easy to actually do what he’s been thinking of for so long.

A well-learned move—and be done with it.

Kakuzu hesitates.

Hashirama isn’t afraid at all—though perhaps there’s no reason for _him_ to be afraid, he’s much stronger even now. And still this kind of trust in strange, unusual; and Kakuzu freezes, dumbstruck, unable to look away. He wants to say something else, but his breath catches in his throat, and he just shakes his head.

Hashirama smiles so openly; and Kakuzu wants to believe him.

But he’s lying.

He has to be.

How could it be otherwise?

Kakuzu watches from afar, not intending to come closer—watches Hashirama hugging Mito tightly, lifting her up—but still it’s not how people hold lovers... or _beloved_.

There’s no passion in this embrace or that tenderness, it’s the same way Hashirama hugs his brother at times; and Kakuzu feels something like hope light up inside him.

How stupid.

He has to call himself a hopeless idiot a few more times before he finally manages to breathe in.

And then he catches Mito’s glance—Hashirama is standing with his back to him—and she winks at him, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly.

They act like old friends, laughing and joking, and Kakuzu watches from the shadows; and still can’t help but feel strangely _happy_, looking at them. Perhaps Hashirama wasn’t lying. Has he ever lied to him?

And yet, Kakuzu can’t understand why it matters so much to him.

Less than half an hour passes before Hashirama finally notices him—well, _decides_ to notice; he must have sensed his presence long ago.

And once he does, he comes to him and hugs him—for some reason, Kakuzu feels at a loss, freezing in place.

He’s not used to such an open—or any, for that matter—display of affection, and has no idea how to react. Hashirama presses his cheek against his, whispers some nonsense—somehow Kakuzu can’t make out a single word—and strokes his back, his shoulders, buries his fingers in his hair.

Sex is something familiar, nothing more than satisfying their needs to mutual benefit; this, however, is different, and Kakuzu doesn’t know how to name the strange emotions overwhelming him when Hashirama is so close.

He just puts his hands on his shoulders and freezes again, not sure if he should have done it at all.

“What’s that about?” he asks—not Hashirama, but rather himself.

But Hashirama replies, not even thinking of pulling away.

“I’m happy to see you. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Kakuzu has to agree.

Nothing, indeed; but getting used to such shows of tenderness is still difficult.

It’s like Hashirama is taming him—this comparison is laughable but seems fitting.

The only thing Kakuzu can’t comprehend—what does Hashirama even need him for; not as a prisoner, a toy or a weapon that he could use—but as a lover, a friend and something more; as _himself_.

“Hashirama loves you,” Mito says suddenly, lightly touching his shoulder, and Kakuzu flinches in surprise, turns around.

She looks at him, serious and calm, faint amusement in her eyes; as if waiting for his reaction.

Kakuzu isn’t sure _how_ to react; her words sound like pure nonsense.

“You’re wrong,” he says flatly.

“Who knows.” Mito shrugs and sits down on the bench next to him, though keeping her distance; casts a brief glance over her shoulder, smiling reassuringly and warmly. Kakuzu doesn’t need to look around to feel Tobirama’s presence—unlike his brother, he doesn’t rush to trust him. This is to be expected; and Kakuzu doesn’t worry about it much.

Mito looks at him again but says nothing.

The silence feels uncomfortable—_not like with Hashirama_, Kakuzu thinks but stops himself. It’s as if Mito is expecting him to say something—but he can’t understand what.

“What did you want?” He asks—he’s never been exactly patient.

“Hashirama is almost like a brother to me,” Mito says, and for a moment, Kakuzu thinks he sees her eyes flash a bright red. “And if you hurt him...”

“I’d rather die,” he interrupts her, and he didn’t expect such answer from himself—but it’s still true.

It’s easier to be honest with Mito than with Hashirama; and even easier than with himself.

_Kakuzu will never harm Hashirama—and the one who tries will regret it._

Mito blinks and smiles; her eyes become dark gray again.

“Good.”

As if there was no threat in her tone just now.

“If Hashirama trusts you, I have no reason to doubt,” she stands up, still smiling. “But I wanted to make sure.”

“Did you?” Kakuzu asks sharply, angry at himself for this frankness.

Her smile brightens a little. “Yes.”

Mito gives him a slight nod, not wasting words on farewells, and leaves; walks up to Tobirama who’s waiting for her at a distance.

Kakuzu watches her go—and feels someone’s eyes on him.

The look Tobirama gives him is distrustful and hostile, like always; but also grateful, and, really, Kakuzu doesn’t understand why.

And then he sees Mito’s think hand sliding over Tobirama’s, holding firmly and gently; and he chuckles to himself.

_How fortunate._

Kakuzu grips his too grown-out hair, about to cut it a little above his shoulders, as usual—

And gasps in surprise when something heavy crashes into him from behind, and someone’s hands grab his wrist firmly, not letting him break away.

“You... what are you doing? Why?” Hashirama exhales, his voice full of terror for some reason.

“Let go!” Kakuzu jerks his hand in irritation, but Hashirama first takes the kunai from his starting to get numb fingers, and only then releases him.

Kakuzu rubs his wrist, looking at Hashirama, confused—and he looks back at him, fear still in his eyes and for some reason—guilt.

“What the hell was that? You care so much about my hair?”

“I... What?” he blinks. Looks at the kunai, then at Kakuzu again—and confusion on his face gives way to embarrassment. “You... wanted to cut your hair.”

“Yes,” Kakuzu hisses through his teeth. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Why... would you use a kunai for that?” Hashirama doesn’t seem to hear his question, twirling the blade in his hand.

Kakuzu shrugs. “It’s faster this way.”

“Faster,” Hashirama repeats and laughs nervously, “And here I thought...”

“_What_ did you think?”

Hashirama looks at him _so_—and Kakuzu finally understands.

“Fuck. I don’t understand how you can be the head of your clan and the damn Hokage,” he groans, “and such an idiot at the same time. Did you really think I was going to cut my own throat?”

“Back then... we were talking about me and Mito...” Hashirama mutters, visibly embarrassed, but doesn’t look away. “I thought it was bothering you... and when I saw you now, I...”

Kakuzu wants to ask, ‘are you that stupid?’; but he keeps silent.

Hashirama only exhales sharply, moves closer and holds him. “I know, I’m a fool,” he says—_such self-awareness_, “to be honest, I wasn’t even thinking. I was so terrified of losing you.”

Kakuzu has no idea what to say at that.

Hashirama doesn’t wait for an answer and speaks for him—just like always.

“About your hair... Leave it like it is, long hair suits you more,” he whispers—and smiles.

_Idiot._

“It’ll get in the way,” it gets hard to speak for some reason.

And to breathe, too.

Hashirama immediately livens up, pulls away and looks at him—so intently, and now it’s Kakuzu’s turn to feel awkward. “I actually came here for a reason.” He puts something in his hands, and it makes Kakuzu look away from him.

In his hands is a headband with Konoha symbol engraved on the steel plate.

_Why?_

“Tobirama isn’t too pleased, of course,” as though not noticing his surprise, Hashirama continues, “but I, for one, don’t doubt you... and you’re staying in Konoha anyway. And now—as a full-fledged shinobi.”

Kakuzu isn’t sure what he feels. He doesn’t care about Konoha—he swore loyalty to a different village.

_The one that betrayed him._

But Hashirama’s words cause strange warmth to spread inside him—‘I don’t doubt you.’

He jerks his head nervously—he doesn’t want to think—and, still silent, simply ties the headband over his forehead.

Hashirama smiles, reaches out and lightly strokes his cheek; and Kakuzu hates this yet can’t help but smile back.

“Looks good,” Hashirama says. “Oh, and your hair won’t get in the way, I think.”

Kakuzu shakes his head, stifling a laugh.

Hashirama is impossible.

_Impossible to resist._

“Your wife and your brother. They’re... together, right?”

“You know already? Yes... That’s why I told you not to worry.” Hashirama smiles softly. “Mito is happy, and so am I.”

“With me?” Kakuzu asks.

And it’s the dumbest question he could ask.

“Do you see anyone else here?” Hashirama laughs. “Yes. I’m happy,” he repeats, running his fingers through Kakuzu’s hair.

“You should hate me,” Kakuzu says stubbornly. “I tried to kill you.”

“You were only following orders. I can’t hate you for that.”

“But why did you help me then?” Kakuzu doesn’t back down.

It’s as if he wants Hashirama to admit that he does hate him, despise him—or that he does not care at all, that he’s with him out of boredom.

And he’s expecting him to reply something along the lines of ‘I felt sorry for you.’

Hashirama, as always, surprises him.

“Because you needed help. How could I _not_ help you?”

“Most people would have chosen to leave me to die,” Kakuzu grins, strangely uncertain. “Or to finish me off, just in case.”

“That’s what Tobirama wanted to do. But I didn’t let him.”

“Why?”

“It would’ve been wrong,” Hashirama says, frowning. “If you had decided to try and kill me again later—we’d have fought fairly. But killing a defenseless man is... low.”

“You’re...” _an idiot_, “too reckless for someone in your position,” is the only thing Kakuzu manages to say.

“I believe in good in people,” Hashirama smiles again, widely and openly. “And I wasn’t wrong about you, was I?”

“You think too well of me.”

“If it were true, would I still be alive?”

“Yes, but only because you’re stronger. But you’re right... I don’t want to kill you.” Kakuzu can’t deny it—not now.

Hashirama moves closer, kissing him—laughs through the kiss, not mockingly—happily.

And it just somehow happens that Hashirama presses him into the bed, kissing confidently and slowly—and Kakuzu gives in surprisingly easily, wraps his arms around his shoulders, leans into every touch—and feels no belittling in this.

Just a slightly different way to express their mutual desire.

There’s a silent question in Hashirama’s eyes when he pulls away for a moment, and Kakuzu nods—he wants that, wants _him_, all of him, in every way, and right now—like this.

Hashirama’s lips brush over his jawline down to his neck, light kisses meant to distract him from the discomfort—which isn’t that bad, really.

It’s actually strangely pleasant.

“Come on,” Kakuzu hisses, clutching his hand.

Immediately tilts back his head, inhaling sharply—though Hashirama pushes inside slowly and stops, letting him get used to the sensations, there’s still too many of them; Kakuzu bites his lips, trying to control his breathing. He’s not hurt—as if it’s even possible with Hashirama—but it’s weird.

“I won’t hurt you, don’t worry,” Hashirama says softly, strokes his face, brushing his wet hair from his forehead, and all Kakuzu can think about for some reason is his surprisingly warm look.

These strange thoughts make him sick and confused, and Kakuzu snarls just to stop thinking, “_For god’s sake,_ do you ever shut up? You’re just fucking me, this isn’t gonna kill me.”

Hashirama laughs quietly and leans down to kiss him.

Not the worst option, because Kakuzu just can’t listen to his nonsense anymore.

All this over-caring is just not for him, he sees no point in it; and still, somewhere deep inside—though he’s not going to admit it—it’s kind of nice.

Just like the way Hashirama kisses him—so long, until they both run out of air, the way he holds him tight, pressing against him, the way he looks at him—and Kakuzu doesn’t understand this feeling deep in his eyes, but he wants Hashirama to look at him like this for as long as possible.

_Always._

“You’re good?” Hashirama asks hastily, moves slowly, too carefully, and Kakuzu wants more—harder, and he doesn’t need words; he leans forward, pulling him closer.

“Hashi,” he breathes, his voice breaking, and almost hates himself for it, “please... Hashi.”

Hashirama pauses, looking at him with a mix of confusion and amusement.

“_Hashi_?” he repeats and laughs, his cheekbones turning slightly red. “I like it.”

Kakuzu wants to turn away and never see this expression on his face again; but out of pure stubbornness continues to look right into his eyes, full of desire and tenderness.

“Say it again,” Hashirama asks suddenly. “Call me that.”

Kakuzu does; and Hashirama lets out a low moan, pressing closer, buries his fingers in Kakuzu’s loose hair, tugs on it—a little painfully, but it’s completely overshadowed by pleasure spreading through his entire body with Hashirama’s every move.

He wants more, to be closer—to never let go, and Hashirama breathes heavily into his neck, leaving wet kisses on his skin; his hands glide over his body, touching lightly, and he moves just as slowly, steadily and _just right_; and at some point Kakuzu loses himself, barely acknowledging the reality—sees, hears and _feels_ only Hashirama.

It feels stronger than before—as if each touch, each sensation is multiplied tenfold.

_And they do not need any words._

This _Hashi_ somehow becomes something _theirs_, personal and intimate in a special way; only when they’re alone and no one hears them. And Kakuzu thinks he’s found the perfect replacement for all the grand words when he sees the way Hashirama looks at him each time he calls him that.

Kakuzu wouldn’t get that soft with anyone else; but Hashirama is an exception, someone special and important to him.

_Hashirama loves you_, he remembers Mito’s words; she stated that as if it were something obvious that went without saying.

What the hell, Kakuzu thinks.

Hashirama likes him, perhaps; but _love_ is too far-fetched.

But even if so—what does he feel for Hashirama?

Kakuzu isn’t used to analyzing his emotions—especially when they’re such a mess, twisted and tangled, contradicting one another and impossible to describe.

He can’t stand Hashirama—for him being so reckless, cheerful, stubborn.

He respects Hashirama—for his strength and willingness to lay down his life for the good of the village.

He _likes_ Hashirama—for his smile, his eyes and his warm embrace.

And none of this awakens hatred or even anger; and for the umpteenth time over the past few months Kakuzu thinks he’s a hopeless fool.

His fingers nervously crumple the fabric of the headband, run over the engraving on the metal—_leaf. Konoha_.

Immediately Kakuzu remembers Taki—and is angry, but again not at Hashirama but at himself; because still every thought of the place that was once home makes his chest ache.

Konoha still doesn’t even come close; Kakuzu grips the headband and angrily tosses it somewhere, not even looking.

And then the door opens.

Hashirama freezes in the doorway, looks down at the headband on the floor—and then looks at Kakuzu, shaking his head.

“Well, maybe I deserve to be pelted with things—though I have no idea why—but don’t disrespect the symbol of the village like that.” Still, he smiles, obviously trying not to laugh.

He picks up the headband and walks up to Kakuzu, sitting down in front of him; hands him this damn piece of cloth, and Kakuzu automatically takes it.

_Hashirama _always_ shows up exactly when he’s needed._

_Kakuzu can’t stand it—and likes it, too._

“I don’t care about symbols or this village,” Kakuzu says roughly and backs away. Almost immediately he feels something close to guilt and tries not to lock eyes with Hashirama.

But he seems to understand him without words—takes his hand firmly but gently, making him look into his eyes.

“I hope one day you’ll change your mind.” Hashirama sighs, stroking his hand. “And that Konoha will become home for you.”

“Hashi...”

‘It’s not going to happen’ is stuck in his throat.

Instead, swallowing hard, Kakuzu says, “My home is with you.”

And he feels disgusted with himself, just what he’s become—but Hashirama’s happy smile and shining eyes chase all the unwanted thoughts away, until only he remains.

_How can he smile like that._

Kakuzu tries to say something snarky, to distance himself again, but no word comes to mind. He just stares at Hashirama like a complete idiot and can’t look away.

And can’t turn away when Hashirama hugs him tightly, laughs with his damn impossible laugh and says that he’ll never let him go.

_To be honest, he doesn’t want to._


End file.
